Old Soul Song For the New World Order
by forsaken x
Summary: Two years following the war and defeat of Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter is an Auror for the Ministry of Magic. When a wizard family is found violently murdered in their home, it seems that the only evidence that the killer has left behind is a disturbingly familiar symbol painted in blood; the Dark Mark. EWE. Harry/Draco. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Two years following the war and defeat of Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter is an Auror for the Ministry of Magic. When a wizard family is found violently murdered in their home, it seems that the only evidence that the killer has left behind is a disturbingly familiar symbol painted in blood; the Dark Mark. Deathly Hallows compliant. NOT epilogue compliant (EWE).

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Rating**: M for adult themes, language, violence and explicit sexual content.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter.

oOo

**Chapter 1  
**

It was nearing sunrise; the soft light of dawn had begun to fill the sky with the promise of a new day, despite what tragedies may have occurred beneath the stars. The gentle breeze was whispering through the many trees which lined the edges of Timber Drive and was lifting the fallen leaves from the concrete road to engage them in a brief waltz before allowing them to drift back to the earth. Harry Potter was walking alone, reveling in the refreshing November chill and the sound of crisp leaves crinkling beneath his shoes. He allowed himself to appreciate the serenity while knowing that in just a few minutes the reposed peacefulness would be replaced with a scene of harrowing macabre. The fog which had settled low to the ground the previous evening seemed to be finally dissolving, and when Harry's destination emerged into focus, he silently braced himself for the proceeding event, which he would never become accustomed to, regardless of how often he finds himself in the company of death. Harry arrived at the little blue house, which sat modestly on a small patch of grass, beside a single apple tree that adorned a wooden swing hanging from its thickest branch. In comparison to the others Harry had passed as he walked down the street, Number Forty-Eight Timber Drive was quite small. Most the neighboring properties boasted immaculate yards and high gated fences, while Number Forty-Eight was humble and quiet, hugged by a small wooden porch on all sides. There was an array of potted flowers, either hanging from the beams above or placed neatly around the porch. Harry made his way down the stone path leading to the house, then climbed three wooden steps before opening the door and letting himself inside.

The entry of the house led to the sitting room, which was filled with various officials from the Ministry of Magic walking hastily about the room, including the Minister himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry stopped beside the door, where there was a small wooden end table, which held a vase of yellow carnations and a picture frame. The animated picture showed the three residents of the house. There was a woman with long brunette curls and prominent freckles, laughing with her arms wrapped around a giggling little girl who was seated on her lap. Beside them sat a broadly smiling man with one arm wrapped around the shoulders of the woman as he looked back between the young girl and straight out of the picture frame, as if he was requesting Harry to admire his family, showing him his wife and daughter with impudent pride. Harry felt a chill in his bones as he tore his gaze away from the picture to look at the rest of the room. There was a brown sofa which sat facing a television, adjacent to a matching armchair beside a free standing lamp. A large wooden bookcase covered the entirety of the back wall. Crumpled on the beige carpet in front of the bookcase was the young woman from the picture, her face hidden by matted blood-streaked brown hair. Beside the bookcase was an archway leading into what seemed to be the kitchen, although the entry was blocked. Strung up from the molding of the arch, by one wrist, was the man from the picture, his face contorted in grotesque agony. Below the grisly display, stained into the carpeting with what was undoubtedly blood, was a symbol that happened to be all too familiar to Harry: a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth.

While observing the morbid complexity of the scene before him, Harry was met by his colleague, Beverly Madison, a fellow Auror. She stood beside him quietly as Harry continued to look around without yet moving. When Harry turned to her she started speaking immediately. "The Emmersons. Kimberly Emmerson," she gestured towards the woman by the bookcase, "was a witch. Her husband, Richard, was a Muggle. It seems as though he was walking into this room when-"

"Where is the daughter?" Harry interrupted.

"Amelia Emmerson is at Hogwarts, it's her first year," answered Beverly.

Harry felt a trickle of relief amidst the grievance before nodding his head, willing Beverly to continue.

"We are pretty certain the killer attacked Kimberly first, immediately after entering the house. Her head was bashed against the shelves of the bookcase, where she fell to the floor and was then placed under a Freezing Charm. Richard Emmerson was in the kitchen, it seems he was preparing two cups of tea. He must have rushed to the door, where he was met by the intruder and was then tortured by means of the Cruciatus Curse. The Dark Mark was drawn with her blood. The killer used a blade to carve _blood-traitor _into her chest and used the blood for the Mark before they were both hit with the Killing Curse." She looked cautiously around at the others in the room, before leaning closer and whispering to Harry, "Everyone thinks it was a Death Eater, Harry, one who had been in hiding since the war."

Harry, who very much doubted the existence of any remaining Death Eaters, simply nodded and said, "Well, then, I suppose we'd better find him before he has the chance to attack another family."

oOo

Later that day, at half past noon, Harry was back in his office in the Auror Department of the Ministry. He was seated at his desk with the Daily Prophet in one hand and a fork in the other which was pushing salad around a plate. Harry found he had no appetite when the department's secretary dropped it off to him. Reading the Prophet, he was relieved to find that it had made no mention of the Dark Mark, blood traitors or any reference to Voldemort whatsoever. The article described it as a random act of violence, perhaps a robbery gone awry, and that the Ministry was following several leads. As far as Harry knew, they actually had no leads. There wasn't much to go on at the scene and after digging through the Emmerson's records there seemed to be nothing suggesting they had any enemies. Beverly Madison accompanied another Auror, Ben Lloyd, to talk with friends and relatives of the Emmerson's, but Harry had a feeling they would offer the same information as the family's records, that no one had any vendetta against them. It had taken a long time for many to regain their peace of mind after the storm settled from the war, so Harry understood why the Ministry would not release the details of the crime to the press, in fear of panic.

Richard Emmerson was a Muggle and grade school mathematics teacher. Kimberly was a witch, who previously worked at Twilfitt and Tatting's in Diagon Alley, before becoming a clothing designer and working from home. Kimberly met her husband at one of her Muggle relative's weddings. They married less than a year after meeting and Kimberly gave birth to their daughter, Amelia, on her and Richard's one year wedding anniversary. They lived in a Muggle neighborhood, the property had been placed under a Muggle-Repelling Charm by the Ministry this morning, so none of the neighboring residents would have noticed anything exceptionally out of the ordinary, although wizarding officials were coming and going all day.

Harry had no trouble believing that there still existed many with similar ideologies of Voldemort, those who wished to purify the wiazarding race, angry that the prospect of that happening had possibly died with Voldemort after the second war. Quite a few people in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seemed a bit nervous, as if the message in blood was proof that the threat had, in fact, not ended with Voldemort's demise, and that he had more followers who had been in hiding, finally coming out to finish what their leader had started. But Harry felt confident that they were dealing with nothing more than a fanatical pure-blood supremacist who idolized Voldemort. His only concern was hunting him down and throwing him in Azkaban before he was given the chance to attack anyone else. Harry had just given up on his salad, tossing it into the bin beside him when there was a knock at the door.

"It's open!" he called. The door opened and the head of the Auror department, Eric Williamson, walked into Harry's office with two rather large folders cradled in one arm and a roll of parchment lying on top of them. Harry had first met Williamson in 1996; he was the first Auror to see Voldemort after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, and he still wore his long black hair neatly tied behind him, flowing down which was almost the entire length of his back. Williamson walked over to his desk and placed the large folders onto it.

"Auror Potter, these are the files we have kept on any Death Eaters or those whom have had affiliation with them. More extensive information on each file is available in the Directory Room. These won't be very useful, I'm afraid, for most are deceased or in Azkaban. Feel free to look through them, though, of course."

Harry nodded and pulled one of the folders across the desk closer to himself, opening it to be met with a picture of Thorfinn Rowle, who was scowling and looking side to side. Written in bold lettering above him was the word _deceased_.

"Our main focus will be these individuals," continued Williamson, handing Harry the roll of parchment, "They are our prime suspects."

Harry unrolled the parchment which revealed eight names, the topmost line reading: _Draco Malfoy – Ex-Death Eater. _Harry looked up, puzzled. "Excuse me, Auror Williamson, but has Draco Malfoy not been defected? He was cleared of all crimes, I myself testified on his behalf at his trial. On what grounds is he a prime suspect?" After Harry had spoken he noticed the apprehensive tone in his own voice.

Williamson looked at him uncertainly, before irritably stating, "He is an ex-Death Eater and a radical pure blood supremacist."

Harry looked back down at the list, scanning the other names, knowing he couldn't argue the matter with his boss, but still uncomfortable thinking that as long crimes which could be compared to those of Death Eaters were committed, Malfoy would most likely, and unfairly, often be suspected of involvement.

Harry hadn't talked to Malfoy since his trial, if it was even possible to consider it a conversation. He and his mother had been tried separately from Lucius Malfoy, which Harry was grateful for. Harry had testified, requesting acquittal of all charges. He explained how Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had put themselves at great risk to help Harry escape from the hands of Lord Voldemort; neither of them were in the room when Harry gave his testimony. Almost a week later, Harry attended the final hearing, where Draco and Narcissa were released and dismissed of all charges. Draco held his mother's hand and rushed her towards the exit, while passing Harry he muttered, "Potter," and nodded his head, before disappearing out the door. Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to five years in Azkaban, and Harry had no involvement in his trial, nor did he attend. Harry had seen Draco a few times since the trial, each time in Diagon Alley, though Harry couldn't be sure if Draco in turn noticed him. Harry knew he was now an independent financial advisor, working from an office in Malfoy Manor, and was occasionally seen accompanying clients to Gringotts.

Harry looked back up to Williamson. "Thanks," he said, trying his hardest to sound amiable.

Williamson nodded and said, with a hint of caution in his voice, "Draco Malfoy has agreed to come in for questioning, should be here at four this afternoon. I have not decided who will be interviewing him yet."

Harry looked up at him and was immediately able to place his challenging expression. Why did it feel as though every task Williamson gave him was some sort of test, as if Harry had yet to prove himself? Harry understood it at first, considering he had been accepted as an Auror immediately following the war, without finishing school or receiving his N.E.W.T.s, and was pushed through Auror training at an alarming rate, but he thought his accomplishments accompanied by nearly two years in his position should warrant him worthy of it. Feeling as he had so often felt under Williamson, as if he were being presented with a challenge of his skill, Harry quickly answered, "I'll do it."

Williamson smiled, "Very well, Auror Potter. I will see he is brought to your office, unless, of course, you'd prefer the interrogation room?"

"My office will be fine," said Harry, neglecting to ask whether Malfoy was, in fact, to be questioned rather than interrogated.

"If your session is unsatisfactory, we can have a brief hearing before the Wizengamot requesting permission to use Veritaserum. I'm sure they would oblige."

"Honestly, I doubt that will be necessary, but I will keep it in mind. Thank you," Harry said, hoping Williamson would leave already so he could begin to plan how exactly he was going to go about interviewing Malfoy, regretting asking why his name was on the list because he was sure that if he hadn't, Williamson would not have been inclined to challenge Harry to be the one to do so.

"If you need anything," said Williamson as he headed for the door, "you know where to find me."

Harry nodded before looking back down at the parchment before him, without actually reading it. Williamson walked out of the room, letting the door fall closed behind him, leaving Harry feeling rather uneasy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry was sitting at his desk, tapping his fingers on the wood surface and staring intently at the grandfather clock which stood against the wall opposite him next to a newly organized bookcase, occasionally stealing glances at the open door of his office. It was twelve minutes past four and Harry was growing increasingly anxious, when he faintly heard Williamson talking from outside. Harry jumped up quickly and walked to the doorway. He lingered beside the entrance against the wall for a moment, listening to Williamson's voice growing louder until Harry was able to make out what he was saying. "…before checking with your house elves to verify your alibi. This shouldn't take long, Mr. Malfoy, but we need your statement documented by an Auror, you understand, of course?" Harry heard a noncommittal grunt, and he felt his pulse quicken as he realized the footsteps were slowing and approaching Harry's office. He stepped into the open doorway and was immediately facing Williamson and Draco Malfoy.

The expression that crossed Malfoy's face was unmistakable as his eyes widened. The mild annoyance in his demeanor was quickly replaced with a look of disbelief and disdain. Harry could have laughed at the defensive manner in which Malfoy's posture suddenly straightened as he narrowed his eyes to look at Harry, but he was sure that would result in little more than increased frustration on Malfoy's behalf, and Harry wanted this to be over as quickly and painlessly as he could make possible.

"I believe you're already familiar with Auror Potter," Williamson said with a smirk that Harry didn't miss. Williamson knew this would be far less than pleasant for Harry and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it. At the edge of Harry's vision he saw Malfoy nod, but he was focused on looking back at Williamson. "I'll leave you with Auror Potter," he continued, "so he can take your statement. Good day." Williamson nodded curtly, looking rather self-satisfied, before turning around and walking away in the direction he had come.

"Excellent," drawled Malfoy, rolling his eyes. Harry stepped aside and outstretched his arm through the doorway of the office in a silent invitation. Malfoy sighed and walked in, followed by Harry who shut the door before quickly walking around his desk. Harry had spent more time than he would have liked to admit straightening out his office. He had allowed himself to believe he would have regardless of who he would be meeting with, but truthfully he never had done so before. The clutter of papers which was usually stacked on every visible surface was hidden away in the filing cabinets which were normally all left open and disheveled. The bookcase was no longer strewn with books laying any which way after Harry would carelessly stuff them back on the shelf after referencing one. Harry sat down in his chair and gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk. Malfoy stood unmoving and staring down at the chair before finally sitting down, and for that brief moment Harry had believed he was going to say that he would rather stand. Harry watched him lower into his seat, noticing that he looked very much the same as he had a few years ago, except that the grey tint which Malfoy had developed beneath his skin during the war, along with the dark circles around his eyes, had vanished. He was still as lean as he was pale and his blonde hair was the same length it had been the last time Harry had seen him, neatly parted in the same manner. Harry wondered if he himself looked much different than he had the last time they met. You hardly noticed a change in yourself, after all, unless perhaps you were comparing pictures side by side.

"Malfoy," Harry finally said, "how have you been?"

"We can skip the pleasantries, Potter," Malfoy said. "Can't you just get on with it so I can go back to work?"

Malfoy's complete disinterest bothered Harry for unknown reasons, but he simply shrugged and said, "Okay, have it your way." Harry pulled closer to him a list of questions he had written earlier along with a blank sheet of parchment. He dipped his quill in the jar of ink beside him and scribbled the time in the top right corner. "Your whereabouts between eleven o'clock last night and four of this morning?" he asked.

"I was at home. Malfoy Manor. My mother can vouch for that as well as several house elves."

Harry nodded and wrote exactly what Malfoy had said. "Do you have any relation with the deceased, Richard or Beverly Emmerson, or to their daughter, Amelia Emmerson?"

"None whatsoever," answered Malfoy. "I had never even heard of them before this morning when your people came to pester me at my home."

"Look, Malfoy, it's just that…" Harry started, although he wasn't exactly sure what he was about to say. Malfoy had interrupted him anyway.

"I'm not naïve, Potter," Malfoy said irritably. "It's not exactly warranted and rather inconvenient, but I'd certainly rather have to deal with this from time to time than be stuck in Azkaban. Now, get on with it."

_The only reason you're _not_ wasting away in Azkaban is because of me, you ungrateful prat, _Harry thought, _the_ _least you could do is be a bit more respectful._ But Harry said nothing, opting instead to look down at his notes and write: _No relation to or knowledge of the deceased prior to the investigation of their murder. _"Are you in contact with any fugitive Death-Eaters or those who identified themselves as a follower of Voldemort?"

Malfoy winced at the mention of the name, before looking Harry in the eyes and firmly stating, "No."

When Harry finished writing, he put down his quill and looked back to Malfoy, who was intently twisting a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt. "All right," said Harry, staring at Malfoy's fingers as it pinched and curled the fine string slowly and deliberately. Harry rose from his desk chair and said, "That'll be enough. You can go."

Malfoy's response was a sigh of relief as he stood up too. Harry almost instinctively reached out for a handshake, before realizing that Malfoy wasn't likely to reciprocate the gesture. Harry was accustomed to shaking hands with guests who were leaving his office and he had momentarily forgotten that Malfoy was not a guest and did not seem to abide by the precedent of being polite, or at least not with Harry. So instead, Harry stood facing Malfoy with his hands at his sides, waiting to hear what Malfoy would say before leaving. But Malfoy only turned and, without another word or glance in Harry's direction, walked out the door.

oOo

Harry spent the next day at work going over records and questioning suspects, who all had alibis that checked out. Beverly had expressed her frustration countless times. That evening, Beverly had fire-called Harry while he was sitting in his living room at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. There had been another murder in London. He had accompanied her to the flat where the victim lived and most of the other Aurors were already there. The scene was all too similar to that of the Emmerson's on Timber Drive. The victim was a young witch named Melanie Bennett; she was Muggle born and a free-lance writer. She had written an article that was recently featured in the Daily Prophet which challenged the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Melanie Bennett was found lying on her bedroom floor where she had been struck by the Killing Curse. Her blouse was removed and the Dark Mark had been carved into her torso. The flat had an Anti-disapparation Charm, so how the killer had entered to murder her was unknown. Perhaps he had convinced her to let him in somehow, but none of the other residents had seen anything out of the ordinary. Harry was furious leaving the crime scene after the investigation; another murder and they were no closer to figuring out who was behind it. Harry didn't sleep that night and neither did many of the other Aurors. Harry, Ben Lloyd and Beverly took one of the conference rooms where they drew theories, discussed suspects, talked about potentially going undercover amidst pure-blood circles, and drank countless cups of coffee.

The following morning, Williamson came into the conference room and told Harry he was to interview two suspects that day. The first was a young wizard named Marcus Frost, who was recently under investigation after his flat-mate, Gale Harper, was arrested for using the Imperius Curse on a Muggle. After the arrest, it came out that Harper was a supporter of Voldemort and believed that only pure-bloods were worthy of being able to practise magic. Frost maintained that he was unaware of the ideologies of his former flat mate who was now Azkaban prisoner, and had an alibi for the nights of both murders.

The second suspect Williamson had Harry interview, was once again Draco Malfoy. Williamson was convinced Malfoy either had some sort of involvement or at least could help point Harry in the direction of those who did. Harry didn't bother trying to argue with him, instead he waited at his desk for Malfoy who was being escorted up by Williamson.

When Malfoy appeared at Harry's door, Harry stood and simply said, "Malfoy," gesturing towards the chair facing his desk. Malfoy sat down, looking even more agitated than he had his previous visit.

"Make this quick, Potter."

Harry pulled out a sheet of parchment. "Where were you last evening between five and eight?"

"I accompanied a client, Lillian Mercury, to her vault at Gringotts at six. From there I went directly to Norman's Bar and Grill in Wiltshire where I met my mother. We were there until after nine." Malfoy spoke without looking at Harry, he was fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt.

"We'll be checking that," said Harry, even though Malfoy must have already known that. They both fell quiet as Harry scribbled notes onto his parchment while thinking he was wasting his time.

"What is that?" asked Malfoy, gesturing to the stone basin which sat in the corner of Harry's office. "It looks familiar."

"It's a Pensieve. Dumbledore had one like it in his office, that's probably where you've seen it."

Harry's was much smaller than Dumbledore's was and acquiring it had proved a rather difficult task. The only one he could find in London belonged to a very surly old wizard by the name of Elias Comrade. It had taken nearly an hour to convince him to sell Harry the Pensieve and it was only after Harry had gotten it home had he realized that it didn't work. After nearly a fortnight of attempts to repair it with the help of Ron and Hermione, Harry had contacted the Headmistress of Hogwarts for assistance. Professor McGonagall was pleased to help, saying it was of no inconvenience, and took the Pensieve to Hogwarts where she mended it. It was returned to Harry just three days later in perfect working order.

Malfoy was still looking curiously at the Pensieve and Harry had no intention of explaining its' function to him, but when he asked, "What's it for?" Harry found himself describing its use anyway.

"It's a way to review memories from an outside perspective. You extract the memory from your mind and place it in the basin where you can observe it from a third-person point of view. I went through a lot of trouble to find one and yet I hardly use it. Sometimes I do for re-analyzing crime scenes I have already seen."

"So you can see anyone's memories?" Malfoy asked, sounding very interested.

"Not exactly. The owner of the memory must willingly extract the memory themselves. Also, someone can purposely tamper with their memory to alter it or even create a fake one."

"I see," said Malfoy, finally drifting his gaze from the Pensieve back to Harry's cluttered desk.

Harry continued with the questions he previously prepared to ask Malfoy. "Do you know of any supporters of Voldemort who still wish to purify the wizarding race?"

"Didn't you ask me this last time?"

"Yes," said Harry. "I'm asking again."

"No. I don't know anyone who expresses support for the Dark Lord, wishes he won the war, wants to purify the wizarding race… none of it."

Harry considered him for a moment. Malfoy had to know people like that, who else would he spend time with? Just because they laid low during the war doesn't mean they couldn't seek vengeance later. "Are you sure about that?" Harry asked carefully.

Malfoy scowled. "Yes, I'm bloody _sure_."

"It'd look good for you, you know. Cooperation with the Ministry, I mean."

"I _am_ cooperating, Potter. I've answered everything you have asked me. Would you like me to start making things up, also?"

"We're done," said Harry putting down his quill. "I'll walk you out."

They both stood and Harry outstretched his arm towards the door. Malfoy walked out first and Harry followed. Harry quickened his pace walk beside Malfoy rather than awkwardly behind him, and they made their way out of the Auror Department and to the corridor outside of it.

"Going to escort me all the way down to the floo, Potter?" drawled Malfoy. "Is that entirely necessary?"

"You know, at first I was sure that you couldn't be involved in this. But you're being so bloody difficult and refusing to help us. Now, I'm not so convinced of your innocence."

Malfoy stopped and turned towards Harry. "Still think I'm evil, do you?" he asked.

"No, Malfoy," Harry said. "I know you're not evil. You're just a coward."

With that, Harry turned away from him to walk down the corridor back towards the Auror office, but before he could take more than a single step, there were two hands fisted into his shirt and he was slammed into the wall. Malfoy released one hand and pulled it back into a fist, but Harry thrust his body forward and off the wall while lowering his head to duck under the punch. Malfoy missed and grunted as he lost his footing, one hand still holding onto the front of Harry's shirt, and Harry raised his own fist, delivering a blow directly to Malfoy's jaw and knocking him to the floor, dragging Harry down with him. Harry was too concerned with trying to scramble off of Malfoy to dodge his fist, which struck Harry in the nose. Harry punched Malfoy's stomach. Malfoy tried to roll out from underneath him as they traded blows to each other. Harry had just raised his elbow to drop into Malfoy's face before Harry was being yanked off of him and to his feet by his upper arms.

"Fuck you, Potter!" Malfoy yelled as he was lifted to his feet by two Ministry officials. Harry's glasses had been knocked off during their fight, but he could easily see that Malfoy was bleeding from his lip and his left eye was swollen and already turning shades of black and purple.

"Fuck you! You broke my nose, you bastard! Again!" Harry was struggling against the grasp of the two people holding him back, as was Malfoy.

"Calm down, Harry," said one of the people holding onto him, and Harry immediately recognized the voice belonged to Beverly. Harry stopped struggling as he watched Malfoy be turned around and half-led, half-dragged around the corner.

"Alright, alright," said Harry. "Let go." When they did, Harry retrieved his glasses before turning around to face Beverly and Ben Lloyd.

"What the hell was that about?" asked Beverly before raising her wand to Harry and saying, "_Episkey_."

Harry felt his nose snap slightly and his swollen lip reduce to its proper size. Harry inspected his tender lip with his finger and when he brought the digit back down he saw it was streaked with blood. "Does it matter? It's _Malfoy,_ for fuck's sake. It doesn't take much." Harry was still fuming; after all he'd done to help him and Malfoy still finds the guts to hit him?

"We'll arrest him, yeah?" asked Ben.

Harry actually considered it for a moment before waving his hand. "No, forget it. Just get him out of here."

Ben looked unsure for a moment, but then he nodded and started down the corridor in the direction Malfoy was taken. Beverly gave Harry a worried look before shaking her head, raising her wand again and saying, "_Tergeo_," cleaning the blood off of Harry's face.

oOo

"You _fought_ with him? Honestly, Harry, how old are you?"

Harry sighed and took a bite of his casserole, wishing he neglected to mention the afternoon's fight with Malfoy because he should have known Hermione would react this way. Harry often joined Hermione and Ron for dinner at their flat in London, and had found himself seated at their kitchen table that evening after leaving work. Although the casserole was dry, it was still rather good and Harry had noticed that Hermione's cooking had been slowly improving.

Ron laughed and clapped Harry on the back. "Just like old times, eh, Mate?" he exclaimed, before shoveling a rather large spoonful of casserole into his mouth.

Hermione curled her lip as she watched Ron take a bite of a dinner roll while his mouth was still full. "Oh, don't you encourage him, Ron!"

"He's not encouraging me. Trust me; I have no intention of interacting with Malfoy again _at all_. I just wish Williamson would stop bringing him in."

"He's not mad to be suspicious of him," said Ron. "Whoever is killing these people is going after a certain kind and not many murders are accompanied by the Dark Mark, you know? Malfoy _is_ a Death Eater, after all."

"_Was_ a Death Eater," Harry corrected. "He never even killed anyone though, Ron. Think about it, can you really see Malfoy being behind this?"

"No, but I can see him being involved or at least knowing which Death Eater might have-"

"Ron, there are no Death Eaters _left_," Harry interrupted. "Someone is just mimicking them. It's like white supremacists adopting the swastika and idolizing Hitler."

Hermione nodded, but Ron looked confused.

"Hitler? Why do I know that name?"

"Dictator of Nazi Germany during the Second World War," clarified Hermione.

"You mean that Muggle lunatic? What's he got to do with anything?"

"Look," said Harry, "the point is that the department is just wasting time on Malfoy. Also, I'm sick of him. I had honestly forgotten how much of a nightmare he is."

"Does he look much different?" asked Hermione.

"No, just older I guess."

"Still pointy?" asked Ron, humorously.

Harry laughed and nodded, but then thought about how Malfoy actually _did_ look different, even if he hadn't really noticed it at first. From sixth year on, he had a grey tint to his complexion, constantly donned dark circles under his eyes, and was far too thin. Now, his skin was alabaster. Although he was lean, he looked healthy rather than sickly and gaunt. Harry wasn't sure if he would still use the word _pointy_. Malfoy was sharp angles in ivory contrasted only by storm cloud eyes.

Harry was thinking of the way Malfoy's pale grey irises would seem to darken while he was angry, when the thought was interrupted by Ron jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow and saying with a grin, "I reckon he looked better as a ferret. Am I right, Harry?"


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Friday, was an uneventful work day. Harry was seated at his desk; his head pounding relentlessly. It was just after seven in the evening and Harry was exhausted. He had been poring over records for hours to no avail. He slumped back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to will away his headache when there was a gentle knock at the open door.

Whoever Harry had been expecting, it certainly wasn't Malfoy, who was standing in the doorway with a cup in each hand. He was dressed far more casually than the last two times Harry had seen him, wearing grey trousers with a white buttoned down shirt and grey sweater vest. "Busy?" he asked. Harry shook his head slowly, wondering what he could possibly be doing there. Malfoy walked over and placed one of the cups of coffee he was holding on the desk in front of Harry before sitting down opposite him.

"Er- thanks?" said Harry, unsure of what to make of it and humorously wondering if perhaps it was poisoned.

Malfoy just nodded before taking a drink of his own coffee. Harry did the same, watching Malfoy curiously.

"I shouldn't have hit you," said Malfoy suddenly.

"Right. Is this an apology?"

"Hardly," scoffed Malfoy.

"Apology accepted," said Harry.

"I brought something that may be useful to you," Malfoy said simply while gingerly bending the plastic tab on the lid of his coffee back and forth. The action was not overlooked by Harry; he had recently noticed that Malfoy's hands often seemed to be restless.

"Coffee is always useful to me," Harry said amiably, allowing a smile.

Malfoy shook his head but was unable to hide the trace of a smile on his lips. He reached into his trousers' pocket and pulled out a tiny glass phial which he placed on the table before pushing it towards Harry. He noticed when Malfoy outstretched his arm that he could see part of a faded black shadow on his forearm. Though only the very edge of it was visibly peeking out from Malfoy's rolled up sleeve; Harry knew very well what lay beneath the rest of the cotton covering it. Malfoy watched Harry pick up the vial and regard it curiously.

"It's a memory. You know, for that," Malfoy said as he gestured towards the Pensieve. "I don't know if it'll do much good, but I figured I'd let you decide."

Harry nodded, thoroughly interested at precisely what memory the phial might contain. He took a rather large sip of coffee before standing and heading over to the stone basin. Malfoy quickly stood and made to leave before Harry turned and said, "Um, you can stay if you want. Just close the door." Malfoy shrugged, closed the door and then leaned against it, watching Harry with unwavering focus as he uncapped the phial and poured the contents into the Pensieve. The familiar ink-like swirls swam through the water as Harry leaned over them before falling through the water and plummeting through the impossible depth.

Then Harry was standing beside Draco Malfoy, who was seated in a parlor. He was reading a book; his fingers pinched the next page, rubbing it between them slowly which made the gentlest of scratching sounds in the quiet room. From Malfoy's appearance, accompanied by the short sleeved shirt he was wearing and warm sun pouring through the open windows of the parlor, Harry assumed it must be the summer before their fifth year at Hogwarts. Malfoy was turning the page of his book when there was a loud thud that had come from elsewhere in the house, causing both him and Harry to jump, startled. Malfoy closed the book and rose from his chair before walking out the open door of the parlor. Harry followed him as he made his way quietly down the vast hallway and it was clear to Harry that they were in Malfoy Manor. There were muffled voices coming from the other end of the corridor. They reached an almost-closed door where the voices became clear. Malfoy leaned against the wall in silence, listening intently. Harry stood beside him to listen to the conversation Malfoy was eavesdropping on.

A voice Harry didn't recognize was speaking, hushed. "You are a dear friend, Lucius. That is why I've come to you and you alone. I couldn't bear the thought of you thinking me a coward and fleeing at this crucial time. The Dark Lord has be quested me to not make my presence known. He has assured me that when the time comes, he will find me."

"What were you thinking? Coming here when the Dark Lord forbids you to speak to any of us," hissed the voice Harry immediately recognized as belonging to Lucius Malfoy.

"Do not speak of this, Lucius! Not if you fear the wrath of the Dark Lord as I do!"

"I will certainly not, but you're mad for putting the both of us at risk!" Lucius Malfoy sounded angry and afraid.

"Lucius, my dear friend, be well. We will be reunited, I am sure of it."

When Draco leaned forward to peek through the slightly open door, Harry took the opportunity to look also. He knew he could only see what the owner of the memory had seen. He glimpsed Lucius Malfoy, his hand on his head, looking exacerbated and facing someone Harry had never before seen. The man was the same height as Lucius, though much bulkier and with broad shoulders. He had shoulder length brown hair which framed his face. As the man started to turn his head towards the door, Draco quickly pulled back to remain hidden.

Harry heard Lucius say, "Yes, my friend, I am sure we will be." Draco had already turned around and was quietly moving down the corridor in the direction in which he had come, when the memory started to pull itself apart; the walls of the Manor liquefying into black clouds and drifting away from Harry.

Harry took a deep breath and turned to regard Malfoy, who was still casually leaned against the door with his arms folded across his chest. "Okay," said Harry, "so, who was that?"

Malfoy shook his head, "I don't know. I had never seen him before. I figured if you saw his face maybe you'd recognize him. But I never saw him again after…" He suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "After _he_ came back. I never saw him with the others."

Harry wondered what to make of it. He'd have to show it to Beverly. He wished there was more, but the face of a Death Eater in hiding is a start. "I appreciate it, Malfoy. But, why are you giving it to me?" Harry immediately regretted asking when he saw Malfoy's face flash in anger before settling into the familiar scowl.

Angrily, Malfoy said, "I don't know, Potter, maybe to clear my name? This isn't a personal favour, if that's what you think."

_Of course not,_ thought Harry. But when he turned and looked at the clutter of his desk, he noticed the cup of hot coffee sitting there. _Does that clear your name, too? _Harry wondered wearily. Instead he opted to say, "I didn't mean it like that, Malfoy. It's helpful and…" Harry shrugged. "Thanks."

Malfoy's features seemed to relax before he let his arms fall to his sides. "Well, yeah. Like I said, it's not a favour. If you'll excuse me, I'd rather not spend my entire evening off standing in your office."

Harry rolled his eyes and as Malfoy turned to open the door, he said, "I'll walk down with you."

Malfoy paused briefly before continuing out the door without saying anything. The lack of an objection was enough for Harry to follow him out and walk beside him, albeit in silence and a good few feet away, as they walked to the lifts.

When they had made their way down to the main floor and rounded the corner into the Atrium, a man Harry recognized as Michael Nolan from the Obliviator Headquarters, started towards them, a blaze of fury in his eyes which were staring intently at Malfoy. Harry, sensing the impending confrontation, reached out his hand and gently placed it on Malfoy's forearm, slowing their pace. His other hand rested at his side, near his wand. When Nolan was nearly a foot away from them, he drew his wand and Harry mirrored the action while stepping in front of Malfoy. Nolan's eyes were bloodshot and donned dark circles around them. He was trembling as he spoke, his words laced with fear. "He did it, didn't he? He killed those people and you're just going to let him go!"

Harry kept his wand pointed at Nolan. "Lower your wand," he said struggling to sound calm, even though he was anything but. Harry didn't want to harm him, knowing how bad it would look on Harry's behalf if he were to hex a Ministry employee in defense of an ex-Death Eater.

"No, you're just going to let him go again!" yelled Nolan, tears now streaming down his face. "They killed my wife, his lot! They took my Vanessa from me…" Years' worth of suffering was evident in his eyes. The busy crowd of the Atrium was at a stand-still. Everyone was staring at them, yet no one moved to assist. Harry wondered if most of them felt similar to the way Nolan did.

Harry repeated firmly, "Lower your wand, Nolan." He saw Beverly walking carefully towards them with her wand drawn, although Nolan didn't seem to notice.

Nolan made to say something, but Beverly had pointed her wand at him, yelling, "_Expelliarmus_!" His wand was pulled from his grasp and flew across the floor, rendering him speechless while looking at Malfoy with contempt and blatant agony. It was as if Beverly's intervention had pulled the onlookers from a kind of trance and two men rushed forward and seized Nolan by each arm. Some of the crowd dispersed, averting their eyes, while others continued to stare at them. Nolan was weeping and it seemed as though the two men who had ahold of him were supporting all of his weight, Harry thought that if they were to let go he would likely fall to the floor.

"Are you all right?" asked Beverly. Harry only nodded and she swiftly turned and marched towards Nolan. "Are you mad?" she yelled. Nolan only continued to sob. Beverly had picked up his wand from the floor and she had her own pointed at Nolan as she led him and the men holding him down the hall, presumably to the Auror Department.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was standing perfectly still and scowling at Nolan, before scanning the room and seeing many eyes fixed on Malfoy, looks varying from disgust and disdain to fear. Harry looked back to Malfoy and said, "Come on, let's go."

Malfoy looked at him, with a look that Harry might have thought to be gratitude (if it wasn't Malfoy), before nodding slowly and following him towards the fireplaces along the wall, where lines were formed for departing through the Floo Network. Harry walked with him to a fireplace. Malfoy looked at him, intently searching his face for a moment and making Harry feel uneasy, before he asked Harry, "Are you coming?"

Harry opened his mouth to question why he would need to accompany Malfoy to wherever he was going, but Malfoy had quickly turned, tossing Floo Powder into the fireplace while stepping into it and saying very clearly, "Rosewood Avenue Arrivals, Wiltshire," before he was engulfed by the emerald flame.

Harry looked back, seeing the lingering gazes of those in the Atrium looking at him distrustfully, before immediately deciding that he had had just about enough of the Ministry for one day and stepped into the fireplace. He hesitated, thinking of Grimmauld Place, before throwing the Floo Powder to his feet and saying, "Rosewood Avenue Arrivals, Wiltshire."

When Harry stepped out from the fireplace on the receiving end, he saw Malfoy facing him as if he had been waiting for him. He offered a half smile before turning and walking away. Harry moved quickly to catch up and walk beside him. They were in a small building which looked very much like a waiting room. There were chairs and sofas which were surrounded by many fireplaces, all connected to the Floo. They walked through a door which led to a busy street and sidewalk filled with Muggles. Harry wanted to ask where they were going, but instead he walked quietly as Malfoy led them down three blocks, before they reached a dark and cramped alleyway which was littered with trash. Malfoy looked around briefly, and Harry supposed it was so no Muggles would decide to follow them, before he stepped into the alley. Harry followed him and looked up at the surrounding buildings, which he assumed were apartments or public housing, for most the windows donned fire escapes. He could hear stray cats fighting not too far off. They came to a rusted metal door that Malfoy pushed open and, having to lower his head slightly, stepped through. Harry followed.

The inside of the pub did not at all reflect its location. It was quiet contrary to it, in fact. It was spacious with soft lighting and mahogany wooden furniture. A large round bar stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by bar stools. There were a few large tables and many smaller, round tables with two or three chairs around them on either side of the room. There were many witches and wizards throughout the place, most dressed in rather formal clothing and most in small groups, talking and laughing quietly. Towards the back of the pub, behind the bar, there seemed to be a lounge with sofas and arm chairs. Classical music was playing softly and Harry could smell the faint aroma of cigars. The pub was most certainly high class, yet laid-back enough where everyone there seemed to be relaxed and completely at ease.

After they ordered two firewhiskeys from a young and very pretty barmaid that Malfoy was already acquainted with, they sat at a small table which was secluded in a far corner of the bar. Harry knew that Malfoy Manor was in Wiltshire, probably very close, and wondered how often Malfoy visited this particular pub, and who he usually came with. They were surely in a Muggle residential area, so Harry supposed there must be Muggle-Repelling Charms around the pub, but he wondered why the fireplaces inside weren't connected to the Floo Network. He saw a couple pay their tab before leaving through the same door which he and Malfoy had entered, curious as to why you couldn't disapparate either. It seemed to be a bit of trouble to get there, which was the point perhaps; it ensured that only those who knew how to get there would be able to.

"My father used to frequent here a lot and would sometimes bring me along. He did business with the former owner. It was a very boring place for a small child. I rather like it now, though, and it is really quite different."

Harry had been on the verge of asking what kind of business his father would be doing with a pub owner and why he felt the need to bring his son with him on such excursions before he quickly dismissed the notion, deciding that avoiding the topic of Lucius Malfoy and his backwards parenting would be a better idea. Malfoy wouldn't take kindly to that sort of assessment either and it may have upset him. But just why was Harry suddenly cautious of offending Malfoy or hurting his feelings, anyway? When had he ever showed Harry the same courtesy? In the past, he had taken every opportunity presented to insult and berate Harry in an attempt to upset him, nothing was off limits; nothing was too far. The only reason he wasn't being cruel to Harry now was because of his authority over Malfoy accompanied by his fear of returning to Azkaban. But then Harry thought of how Malfoy had been anything but pleasant in the beginning of this investigation; he hadn't forced being polite, let alone friendly. Why the sudden change? Talking freely to Harry, bringing him coffee; was it possible he was warming up to him? Harry immediately challenged the thought. Malfoy certainly was not warming up to Harry, he was as cunning a Slytherin as he had always been, and no doubt saw the advantage to having Harry's defense. Harry's defense had, after all, saved him from a deplorable fate once before. Perhaps, as the Ministry seemed to be more desperate to make an arrest, Malfoy feared his liberty was more so at risk. Harry should know and understand this as an undeniable truth, so why was he sitting here in a Wiltshire pub with his eyes transfixed on the slender, pale fingers of his once-rival, as they slowly circled the rim of his glass?

"So why didn't it work out with The Girl Weasley?" asked Malfoy unexpectedly, before taking a sip of his drink. Despite the casual manner in which he asked, Harry felt a sting of annoyance at his inquiry, maybe because of the way in which he regarded Ginny when Harry was certain Malfoy knew her name.

"I don't see how that is any of your concern," Harry said irritably. Malfoy's gaze met Harry's and he could see a familiar smirk on the corner of his mouth as he raised his eyebrows, looking both interested and slightly amused.

"Alright, Potter," started Malfoy, "since the topic of your personal life is clearly off limits, let's see…" He strummed his fingers on the table, apparently searching for a suitable topic of discussion.

Harry suddenly felt embarrassed having snapped at him. He drank from his glass before lowering his head slightly, staring at the dark wood of the table. He sighed and said, "We're still friends and I love her as I do the rest of the Weasleys; they're family. I guess we just fell apart after the war, but we held onto it because it seemed like that was what we were _supposed_ to do." Harry was surprised at his own honesty when he looked up to see Malfoy looking at him with no trace of amusement or malice, only interest.

"So it was mutual, then?" asked Malfoy.

"Yeah," Harry said, then paused, again perplexed by his willingness to express genuine detail of his breakup with none other than Draco Malfoy. Not even with Hermione had he been so straightforward. He continued, "Well, no, actually. I ended it. She was upset, but I think she had been expecting it. It was like we were forcing which seems to come naturally to everyone else." Malfoy nodded his head, piercing grey eyes fixed on Harry, who was feeling unsettled. Desperate to get off the subject of Ginny, Harry decided to ask Malfoy a similar question. "What happened between you and Pansy Parkinson? Unless you're still together that is."

Malfoy furrowed his brow and asked, "Excuse me?"

Harry thought Malfoy was going to revile him for questioning his personal life, even after he had all but laughed at Harry for being hesitant to discuss his own. Harry only clarified his previous question by saying, "Pansy Parkinson."

Malfoy still looked confused and slowly shook his head.

"Wasn't she your girlfriend through basically our entire time at Hogwarts?"

Malfoy laughed. "No, Potter, Pansy was not my girlfriend." He finished his drink and gestured to Harry's almost-empty glass. Harry, who was distracted by Malfoy's previous statement, fumblingly drained the rest of his firewhiskey before sliding the empty glass across the table and murmuring, "Thanks."

Malfoy, with a subtle smile which Harry would have never before thought to be complimentary on his countenance, stood and carried the two glasses to the bar to have them refilled. Harry could hardly believe that Pansy hadn't been Malfoy's girlfriend at Hogwarts. She was always fawning over him, they went to the Yule Ball together, and Harry even saw Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express with his head on her lap as she stroked her fingers through his hair. The memory made his insides feel uncomfortably hot and Harry assumed it was because a few short minutes after witnessing him and Pansy's intimacy on the train, Malfoy had been stomping on Harry's face and breaking his nose. What also troubled Harry was the way Malfoy had laughed at the notion of dating her, as if it were absurd for Harry to think he had. Harry thought that perhaps Malfoy spent his time with a lot of girls and didn't want to be restrained by a commitment to only one. Harry could certainly see Malfoy as that type and the warmth in the pit of his stomach surged. Harry was sure it was because he had never seen the appeal in promiscuity and he tended not to have much respect for men who treated women in such a fashion. Harry had to forcefully remind himself that he had been reaching for assumed conclusions for which he had no basis before he was able to relax, disregard the presumption, and extinguish the threatening flame in his core.

One trip to the men's room and three drinks later, Harry found himself to be considerably more relaxed as he talked with Malfoy, even when he mocked Harry's unruly hair ("_The Boy Who Lived Without A Comb"_), Harry had laughed despite himself.

It seemed Malfoy's composure was becoming increasingly relaxed with each drink as well. Harry subconsciously mirrored Malfoy's subtle smile whenever it crept over his face and while his laugh was quiet and reserved, it was nevertheless infectious. Harry was beginning to wonder if perhaps Malfoy's house-mates at school had been attracted to his company for more reason than simple social-standing.

"There's no way the Magpies are taking the cup this year," said Malfoy as he brushed a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes and neatly back in place. "Have you seen their Seeker? He's bloody awful. I would think for what is arguably the best team in the league-"

"Arguably? They've won thirty-four times! And they've won the past two years in a row," Harry interrupted.

"Yes, but that was before they made Robinson their Seeker. Honestly, they couldn't find anyone better?"

"They've made it to the final, haven't they? And he's a perfectly good Seeker," Harry said stubbornly.

Malfoy was shaking his head earnestly. "He's far too distracted under pressure. The Wasps are going to win the cup. I'm sure of it."

"We'll see about that," said Harry, wondering if they were talking about the same teams. The Magpies were the most successful Quidditch team and Harry was sure of their impending victory in the upcoming competition for the League Cup.

"Ten galleons," stated Malfoy, smirking with a familiar, challenging expression accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

"You're on, Malfoy," Harry said as he raised his glass. Malfoy smiled and lifted his also to clink it against Harry's before bringing it to his mouth. Harry's eyes were focused on the motion of Malfoy's Adam's apple as he drained his glass in a single gulp. Harry followed suit, finishing his own drink hurriedly before standing up on slightly unsteady feet, fighting off the sudden momentary dizziness. He looked down at Malfoy who was regarding him with darkened grey eyes. Were they that dark a few minutes ago? Harry reasoned there must have been a change in the lighting of the room which he had failed to notice, as he reached for both of their glasses and noticed Malfoy drag the very tip of his tongue along his bottom lip to catch the remnants of the firewhiskey he had just drank. It captured Harry's full attention, quite without his permission, and he turned briskly to make his way over to the bar, determined to ignore exactly where his previous attention was directed and crediting the certain flush of his cheeks to the alcohol.

They shared one more drink before splitting their tab and leaving the pub. As they walked down the alley, Harry momentarily lost his balance on unsteady feet. Malfoy had reached his hand out to steady Harry by the arm before he could fall onto the trash-laden cement, while laughing. "Very graceful, Potter!" Harry only wrinkled his nose and attempted to give him a cold glare, but he ended up laughing anyway. As they walked down the street, which was much emptier at eleven o'clock than seven, Harry was thinking of the incident in the Atrium that happened only a few hours ago, when he was hit with a sudden realization. Malfoy was _lonely_. Who would want to hang around an ex-Death Eater? Sure, he may have clients and many acquaintances, but Harry could be sure they he didn't have many actual friends. An image of Malfoy sitting alone at the pub they just left flashed in Harry's mind, and he suddenly felt very sorry for the man. He couldn't help but wonder if Harry was the only person he has spoken to lately who attended Hogwarts with him. Yet, Harry still couldn't quite understand why he would want to be in the company of Harry, of all people. Certainly, with his level of disdain towards Harry he would rather be alone, right? When they had made it to the arrivals station, Harry looked over to Malfoy, who looked a little drunk; not completely uninhibited, but definitely at ease. Nevertheless, he still looked completely proper and put-together. "I have a feeling you're not as terrible as you'd like people to think you are."

Malfoy just laughed while throwing Floo Powder at the fireplace. "See you around, Potter." With that, he stepped into the blazing green flame and stated, "Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire."

When the roaring flame died down to a low, kindled burning, Harry did as Malfoy had, only he said, "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London," as he stepped into the glowing flames.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday afternoon Harry woke up nursing a hangover. He quickly got out of bed and went to the cupboard in the kitchen to drink a phial of hangover relieving potion before showering and getting ready to go over to the Weasley's for dinner.

It was almost sunset when Harry apparated into the backyard of the Burrow, to see George standing in the yard by himself. George smiled and waved earnestly at Harry, who walked towards him.

"Hey, George, why are you out here?"

"I was just getting some fresh air," George said. "But let's get inside, before my bullocks freeze off."

Harry smiled as they walked towards the house.

"Look who's here," said George as they walked through the back door.

Molly Weasley was standing by the sink, a soapy dish in hand, when she looked over her shoulder and smiled at Harry. "Harry! Come on in, everyone's in the living room," she said as she continued washing.

"What do you need help with, Mum?" asked George.

Molly turned, drying her hands on her apron as she looked around the kitchen and said, "I'm about done, dear. Everything is set up already. You could just bring this bottle of mead out to the living room. Wait, Fred, take this nut brittle too…"

Harry's eyes snapped to George, who winced as if he had been stung. Harry quickly grabbed the mead and started for the living room, glancing behind him as he did to see George lean down over his somber mother and kiss the top of her head.

Sitting around the living room was Arthur Weasley, Ron, Hermione, Percy and his wife, Audrey. Audrey had her bare feet up on a footrest; they probably ached and looked a bit swollen since she was in the third trimester of her pregnancy.

"Harry!" Arthur exclaimed. "Come sit, come sit. We were just discussing baby names!"

Harry took a seat next on the sofa next to Hermione. "How long until the baby is due, Audrey?" Harry asked.

"I'll be nine months next week, but it could be any day now. Baby's been restless, kicking and moving constantly."

Harry looked over at Percy, who was beaming.

"He's just anxious to meet us all, of course!" said Arthur.

"Or she," said Hermione, smiling at Audrey. Hermione seemed to get on best with her. Whenever they were all at the Burrow, Hermione and Audrey were usually sitting beside each other, talking quietly together and giggling. Percy and Audrey's wedding was a little over a year ago, and it was the first family event where everyone seemed to be genuinely happy since the devastation of the war and the loss of Fred.

The wedding was also the last time Harry and Ginny were together with everyone as a couple. Less than a week later, Ginny had come to Grimmauld Place, asking if she had done something wrong and why he seemed so distant from her. It was a hard conversation, having to tell her that he just didn't feel like it was the same as it was in school. When they had gotten together, it was amidst so much chaos and thinking of her had gotten him through so much. He would tell himself that after it was all over that they would be able to be together and they would be able to fall in love properly. Only, when it ended, that never happened. It was frustrating; he tried so hard. He loved her but it wasn't how he thought it would be. After the conversation that subsequently led to their break up, she had cried but said she understood. She said she loved him but she could feel he didn't love her the same way. Harry treasured the friendship he and Ginny now had, although it wasn't easy to get to that point after their break up. Arthur and Molly seemed disappointed, but nothing changed from his relationship with the family, which he couldn't be more grateful for.

They ate a hearty dinner prepared by Molly, they drank and laughed and Harry went home late that night with the settled happiness he always went home with after an evening spent at the Burrow.

Harry spent the rest of his weekend in peaceful solitude at Grimmauld Place.

oOo

Monday at the Ministry was uneventful. He spent his lunch break up in Hermione's office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, where she worked furthering her cause for the better treatment of house-elves. The rest of the day he spent in his office with Beverly, where they pored over the same documents, finding nothing to further their investigation. Harry had showed Beverly Malfoy's memory in the Pensieve, but she couldn't recognize the stranger, either. Harry started to wonder if he should just go down to Azkaban himself and ask Lucius Malfoy about it.

At a quarter to seven, when Harry was just about to call it a day and head home, Ben Lloyd had come into his office.

"You'll never believe who someone just tried to hex outside of Gringotts," he said.

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Malfoy."

"What? What happened?"

"Marlow is bringing in the wizard who did it now, a fellow named Morrison," said Ben. "Malfoy is fine, they made him go to St. Mungo's anyway, just to make sure. Williamson wants someone to go get a statement from him, no one really wants to so I figured maybe you would volunteer?"

"Yeah, sure," said Harry. "No problem." Harry locked the door to his office behind him and made his way to the Floo Network.

When Harry arrived at St. Mungo's he found out which room Draco Malfoy was in and made his way to the Fourth Floor Spell Damage Department. When he got to Room Twenty-Two, he knocked twice. When he heard Draco call, "Come in," he pushed the door open and stepped inside, letting the heavy door close behind him.

Draco was standing with his back to the door, beside a neatly made hospital bed and facing a large window which flooded the room with light. He was wearing black trousers and was evidently still in the process of dressing. He had just put his arms through the sleeves of a grey buttoned-down shirt before he turned around. When he looked at Harry there was a slight hint of surprise in his expression as he raised a questioning eyebrow.

Harry spoke quickly. "Just making sure you're alright. The Ministry was…" Harry trailed off as his gaze lowered. Draco's bare torso under the opened shirt showed a startling amount of faint pink lines strewn across pale flesh. Harry was momentarily confused, wondering why neither the Healer he had spoken to or the Examination Report on the door mentioned any hex or curse damage, and then he was slammed with a sudden realization that made his stomach tighten. _Of course,_ he thought. _Those scars aren't from when Morrison attacked him; they are from when I did. _

Draco sat on the edge of the bed and had begun slowly buttoning his shirt. Harry, feeling dazed, was hardly aware of walking to where Draco was seated and lowering himself onto his knees in front of him. He had yet to look away from the exposed skin. Harry saw his own trembling hands reaching out to gently touch the fingers of both of Draco's hands, which were placed, unmoving since Harry had knelt before him, on the second button up on his shirt. Harry, moving considerably slow, carefully unfastened the two buttons and Draco's hands lazily lowered onto the bed. One of Harry's hands was resting on Draco's knee, as his other hand's fingertips gently began to trace over one of the slightly raised pink ribbons between Draco's ribs. Draco inhaled sharply and his skin seemed to jump under the touch.

Harry's head was swimming with the vivid memory of the day he inflicted the wounds that have left Draco scarred even years later. His mind's eye was flooded with the image of Draco's body sprawled across the wet floor, the water around him swirling crimson with his blood. He heard Draco's tortured cries of agony ringing over Harry's quiet pleading of "_No – I didn't –_ " as he crashed to his knees beside him.

His heart was twisting in his chest as he unwillingly relived the memory; his fingers softly and slowly followed the scar as it stretched down towards Draco's hipbone. Harry desperately tried to will himself to stop, to stand up, to do anything other than kneel before Draco Malfoy in this strange, dream-like haze fighting himself from letting the threatening tears that were stinging his eyes escape. He was, to no avail, silently commanding his legs to move, when he suddenly felt a hand gently graze his jaw and lightly wrap around to the back of his neck in a gentle caress, until fingers were threaded into the short strands of hair on the back of his head.

Harry lifted his head slightly and, for the first time in what felt like nearly an eternity, he looked up at Draco. He was met with an entirely unfamiliar expression and piercing grey eyes which were intently studying his face. Draco's lips were slightly parted and there was no trace of the usual scowl in his seemingly softened features. Harry felt as if a match was lit in the pit of his stomach. He was unsure when his breathing had become shallow, but he now noticed it accompanied by his rapid and frantic heartbeat.

In an instant, Harry felt himself leaning up as his eyelids fell closed. There was nothing that could have prepared him for what was happening and his mind was refusing to offer any rational thoughts. In fact, it seemed his inner-voice had abandoned him completely, for it had fallen deathly silent. When Harry felt a faint brush of lips against his own, he parted his against Draco's mouth firmly while absently reaching his hand up to wrap around the back of Draco's neck, pulling him closer. Every nerve in Harry's body was ignited. Draco's tongue was slipping into Harry's mouth, sliding over his own and there was a muffled moan that could have come from either of them. Draco was warm, and tasted like tea. Harry's mind was screaming, _yes, more, now. _Harry was sliding his hand under Draco's open shirt, his palm flat against his back. Draco was pulling Harry against him, one hand still fisted in Harry's hair, the other on the small of his back. There was another muffled, quiet groan that vibrated through Harry, and that time he was sure it had come from Draco. Harry was suddenly aware of the extent of his own arousal, which was pressing hard against his trousers and aching to be touched. He was kissing Draco desperately, with his fingers wrapped in silky strands of hair, his other hand sliding down Draco's back, when there was a sudden knock at the door.

Draco abruptly pulled back and Harry faltered forward, grabbing onto the edge of the bed as he struggled to keep his balance before standing up on unsteady feet. Harry turned to look at the door, his heart pounding against his ribs as if it was desperate to escape his chest. He was breathing heavily and the room was deafeningly silent. He stood staring at the door as his breath slowed and he attempted to gather his thoughts, which was proving rather difficult.

About a minute had passed until there was a second knock and he heard Draco, calm and clear, say, "Come in." Harry, reluctantly, allowed himself to look at Draco, who was looking back at him curiously. Draco's eyes were narrowed and his brow was slightly furrowed, as if he were concentrating on trying to solve a particularly difficult equation. He looked calm and had buttoned his shirt, leaving the top most three left open. If it weren't for the faint red color which flushed his usually pale face, Harry would have thought he had hallucinated what had just happened. _And what exactly _had_ just happened,_ he silently asked himself, as he looked back at the door which was being pulled open from the other side.

A young brunette Healer walked in, smiling pleasantly and holding a clipboard in her hands. Harry had seen and talked with her many times during his frequent visits to St. Mungo's, but for the life of him he could no longer remember her name. Her smile broadened when she saw Harry. "Good evening, Auror Potter. How are you?"

Harry momentarily feared he had forgotten how to speak, his throat was tight and there was a relentless fluttering in his stomach. Thankfully, when he opened his mouth he heard himself clearly say, "I'm well, thank you. I'm sorry, but you'll have to excuse me, I just dropped in to check on Mr. Malfoy and I must get back to The Ministry." He was already at the door, pushing it open. "Goodnight," he said, with his back to the room as he stepped out into the corridor, not waiting to hear the Healer's response, and not daring to look behind him.

Harry moved quickly with his head lowered to avoid anyone stopping him for conversation. His mind was reeling as he walked the corridor in long strides, turning a few corners until he reached a set of doors which led to the men's bathroom, which he pushed open before walking directly to the sink. He looked into the mirror and wasn't surprised to see himself looking rather disheveled. He wet his hands and flattened his hair, which had been sticking up a bit, as he let out a long sigh. "What the _bloody hell _was that?" he quietly asked his reflection. When his mirror-self gave no adequate reply, (it would not have very much shocked him if it did, because he clearly _must_ be going mad) he turned and walked out of the bathroom to head home.

oOo

Harry was sat at his kitchen table. He had been home for nearly ten minutes, after flooing directly from the hospital, and had managed to do as much as make a cup of tea and sit down before panicked thoughts claimed him. Harry had seen the Sectumsempra scars and then… well, then everything became confused and he couldn't make any sense of it. His thoughts twisted and turned, blindly reaching out in the hope of grasping onto a logical explanation amidst a whirlwind of sensations Harry could hardly recognize. "I felt guilty," he whispered to the empty room. The words floated through his head and it was as if his mind was turning them over, carefully studying them before finding the reasoning satisfactory. Of course Harry had felt guilty; he had nearly killed him after all. After seeing the scars, the remorse had caught him off guard and before he could properly place it, he was desperately attempting to make amends through a disoriented haze. Besides, all Harry had intended to do was _look_, it had been Draco who reached out and touched his face. Harry absently reached his own hand to the place Draco's fingers had caressed, remembering the sensation and feeling a thrilled heat rise in him. Harry quickly pulled his hand away and grasped the edge of the table, feeling the color rising in his cheeks as a wave of embarrassment spread through him. Harry decided his arousal was just evidence of his lack of intimacy lately. After all, he didn't even like blokes. He firmly convinced himself that the contrition had ambushed him unexpectedly and he wasn't thinking properly; that it was a mistake and nothing to carry on about.

Harry took a few sips from his tea before putting it in the sink and heading for the stairs. He briefly considered going over some of the paperwork involving his investigation, before deciding he wouldn't be able to focus and it would be better to get some sleep. He brushed his teeth and changed into pyjamas before climbing under the warm blankets and into his bed. He laid in the darkness, straining to keep his thoughts occupied with anything other than Draco Malfoy. After long minutes of mentally reciting the names of professional Quidditch players, Harry vaguely wondered how long he and Draco would have stayed like that, desperately kissing and pulling at each other, if they hadn't been interrupted. An unwelcomed image of Harry unbuttoning Draco's trousers crept into his mind and Harry turned over, burying his face in his pillow in an attempt to chase the thought away. A few minutes later, during a barren attempt to keep his mind focused on Quidditch team statistics, he was interrupted by the memory of the warm citrus taste, and how much he had actually liked it. It was his last thought before sleep claimed him. Harry's dreams were fractured and disconcerting.


	5. Chapter 5

The following morning, around fifteen minutes after arriving at work, Harry found himself in his office with Beverly opposite him, her shoes kicked off on the floor and her bare feet, crossed at her ankles, propped up on the corner of his desk.

"Okay, a seven letter word; the species which inspired The Golden Snitch."

"Snidget. You really didn't know that one?"

"I'm useless with anything that has to do with Quidditch, Harry. You know that."

"You're pretty useless with crosswords in general," said Harry.

Beverly responded with a mock scowl before scribbling the answer into the _Daily Prophet_. Most mornings were spent like this, with coffee and what Beverly called 'Her Daily Crossword', although Harry has come to regard the routine as, 'Solving Beverly's Crossword.' On this particular morning, he was struggling to keep Draco out of his thoughts, which was so far proving impossible. At the mere mention of Quidditch, Harry's imagination was already fueling a rather vivid day-dream where he was chasing Draco through the air on his broom.

"Seven letters; a druidess whose Animagus form was a sea bird."

"Cliodna," said Harry vacantly. His thoughts were far from the medieval druidess; in his mind he saw himself standing on a green field, holding up a Snitch up victoriously as Draco shook his head, although smiling, while walking towards him.

"Oh, I should have known that one. I remember her Chocolate Frog Card. Okay, last one…"

But Harry wasn't listening to Beverly; instead his personal space was being invaded by Draco, whose slightly sweat-dampened hair was clinging to his forehead. He could hear Draco's soft voice in his mind, swirling around him like smoke. _"So you've bested me again, Potter."_

"Are you listening to me?"

Harry's eyes fell closed, just as they did in his fantasy, and Draco was leaning towards into him, his breath warm on Harry's mouth, the faintest touch of Draco's lips…

"Oi! Earth to Harry!"

Harry was unceremoniously yanked out of his day-dream to see Beverly leaning forward in her chair, feet on the floor, and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Sorry! Er- I was thinking. About the case, that is."

A look of concern flashed across her face briefly, reminding him all too much of Hermione, before she settled back heavily in her seat. _Right to be concerned,_ he thought. _Hell, I'm concerned. Maybe I've got a fever…_

"I've been thinking too," she said. "I know you'd rather put it off, but you really can't. You have to go and talk to Malfoy."

Harry's eyes snapped open. "What," he spluttered. "Did you- How do you-"

"Just go to Azkaban today and get it over with."

"Azkaban? Oh! _Lucius_ Malfoy… Right. I should. Er- do that."

"Harry, are you feeling okay?" asked Beverly.

"Yes! Well, besides that I'd really rather not go Azkaban," he said.

"Hey, at least there are no dementors," she offered.

"I think I'd prefer a dementor over Lucius Malfoy, actually," said Harry.

Beverly laughed before swinging her feet back up onto Harry's desk. "Well, you'll have to talk to Williamson when he gets in. Lazy bugger, has he ever been here before the rest of us?"

Harry laughed, despite the knot twisting in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Lucius. Or was the unease caused by the rather explicit reoccurring fantasies of the younger Malfoy?

"Eleven letters; its mucus is often used to thicken potions," said Beverly.

"How do you not know that? Flobberworm!"

"Of course I knew it," said Beverly. "Just seeing if you did."

Harry snorted. "I'm sure."

oOo

By the time Harry's rather uneventful work day was coming to an end, in a similar fashion to how it started, right down to Beverly's bare feet up on his desk, he had managed to keep his bizarre Draco-related fantasies out of his mind. He was convinced the only reason he had been thinking about it so much is because it was so _different_. Harry had once read an article in _Witch Weekly_ about how some men fantasized about situations that were more sexually adventurous, such as threesomes and bondage. Harry had no interest in either, but he figured that his kiss with Draco was similar in that it was a sort of experimentation in sexuality. Harry still liked women, wanted women, and his recent… _exploration_, was just that: simply exploration, out of curiosity. Nothing to worry about. As far as going to see Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban, Harry had decided it could wait until the next day.

"You know, Beverly," said Harry, "some people would be surprised by the fact that you actually have your _own_ office because of the amount of time you spend in mine."

Beverly didn't seem to hear him; she was chewing her thumb nail while reading the _Prophet_ with narrowed eyes.

Harry poked the sole of her foot with his quill, making her jerk and look at him. "What was that for?" she asked.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry.

Beverly shrugged. "Opinionated _Prophet_ readers. You know how readers send in their thoughts on current events? Listen to this one:_ 'Witches and wizards have no business dating Muggles and bringing them into our world.'_ Of course, because Muggles are Muggles and witches are witches and let's all forget the fact that people are _people_."

"They're all idiots," said Harry. Beverly, who was Muggle-born, had little to no patience when it came to Muggle-related prejudices. "Don't worry about them, Bev."

"I know," she said. "You're right but sometimes I can't help getting angry."

Beverly put the _Prophet_ down and looked over at Harry's clock. "Hey, it's almost six. Do you have any plans tonight?"

"No," said Harry. His only plan had been to go home, take a hot shower, and hopefully read a few more chapters of his book before going to sleep.

"Come out with me and Noah tonight for a few drinks. You can invite Ron and Hermione too."

"I know Ron and Hermione are having dinner at her parent's house, but I could surely use a drink… or four."

Beverly smiled. "Great! So just go home and change, then Floo over to my place."

Harry looked down at his worn jeans and t-shirt. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nothing, if we were going somewhere like The Leaky Cauldron, but we're going to The Dragon's Den," said Beverly.

"Er- the what? And what do I have to wear, dress robes?"

"The Dragon's Den. It's a club, Harry, you don't wear dress robes."

Harry again looked down at what he was dressed in then back at Beverly. She sighed and shook her head before saying, "We'll just go to my flat. You're about the same size as Noah, so you can borrow something of his."

"I don't know, Bev…"

"It'll be fun," she said.

Just then, Meagan stepped into Harry's office with an oversized stack of files cradled in her arms. On her way to Harry's desk she tripped over one of Beverly's shoes, stumbling and dropping her folders. Harry had jumped up and grabbed her arm to steady her as a cloud of papers littered the floor.

"Sorry, Meg!" said Beverly, flicking her wand and watching as the scattered papers stacked themselves neatly on Harry's desk.

"Heaven forbid you ever kept your shoes on," said Meagan, not sounding at all bothered. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry looked at Meagan, who was blushing and looking down at where his hand held her forearm, and was hit with a sudden realization. He thought of some of the off-hand comments Beverly had made to him about Meagan_. "Doesn't Meagan look pretty today, Harry?" "Do you want to come out with me, Noah, and Meagan tonight, Harry?" "You really should go to Meagan's Christmas party, Harry. It would mean a lot to her."_ The lingering looks, the shy smiles… Meagan liked Harry and he had never noticed her. Why not? She _was_ pretty, albeit a bit plain, but pretty nonetheless, with a slim figure and long, brown hair that looked soft enough to bury your face into.

"Meagan," said Harry, releasing her arm. "Come out with us tonight."

Harry saw Beverly look away, trying to hide her grin with her hand. Meagan's faint blush spread across her cheeks. "Sure. Where are we going?"

"The Dragon's Den," said Beverly. "Meet us there at eight."

"Okay, sound's great," said Meagan, looking back to Harry and smiling brightly before walking back out of his office.

Harry sat down in his chair and selected a file from the stack on his desk to look over, all the while ignoring Beverly's smirking face. He thought about The Dragon's Den, hoping he wouldn't be expected to dance. He wondered if tonight would qualify as a date, and if Meagan would wear lipstick. He thought about Noah's clothes that would fit him, and he thought about Draco. He wondered if Draco had a date tonight, and if he did whether it was with a man or a woman. He wondered if Draco had ever had a boyfriend and if he had ever kissed a girl who was wearing lipstick. He wondered if Draco was thinking about him, too.

oOo

Harry, Beverly, and her boyfriend, Noah, arrived at The Dragon's Den just after eight o'clock and met Meagan outside the building. Harry was wearing a t-shirt and jeans that were faded-on-purpose and he looked _fashionable_, to Beverly's delight and Harry's discomfort. Beverly, who usually seemed to prefer comfort over all else, looked almost completely different in a black dress that hugged her curves and high heels. It was also the first time he had ever seen her in makeup. Meagan was wearing a dress similar to Beverly's, except in red. She too, looked prettier than usual and Harry wondered if she thought of him while she took special care in getting ready, and it inexplicably made him feel guilty.

The club was large, crowded, and loud. There was a spacious dance floor, lit by assorted coloured neon lights. Beverly had reserved a table toward the back of the club, on the other side of the dance floor and bar. The atmosphere was wild, and everyone there seemed to be at least a little drunk. As they made their way through the crowd, bumping into people, Harry watched as two young women who were dancing on top of an oversized speaker were being yelled at to come down by a bouncer.

A barmaid brought a round of drinks over to them almost immediately. "From your friend at the bar," she said.

"Who's at the bar?" asked Beverly, craning her neck towards the bar. Harry glanced back too, but shrugged when he didn't see anyone he recognized. By now, he was used to people he didn't know sending him drinks in restaurants and bars. After another round, Noah asked Beverly to dance, and they left Harry and Meagan alone at the table.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, "but, I don't really dance. Well, I'm dead awful at it; you wouldn't want to dance with me anyway."

Meagan only smiled and said, "That's okay, Harry. It looks pretty crowded over there anyway."

"I could go get us another drink," said Harry.

"That would be great, thanks," she said as Harry got up to go fetch their drinks.

People were crowded around the bar waiting for their drinks, and the bartender was flicking her wand wildly. Harry watched, impressed, as bottles flew around her, pouring themselves into glasses and floating directly to the waiting customers. With a swish of her wand, all the coins on the counter were swept behind the bar and into an enormous jar filled with money.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Harry spun around so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet. Inches away from Harry, an amused smirk playing at his lips and lights dancing over his pale skin and hair, was Draco.

"I think you already have," managed Harry, although his heart rate felt as if it had increased tenfold and he had the mad urge to apparate away on the spot.

"I've never seen you here before. I wouldn't take you as much of a club goer, if the pained expression you wore throughout the Yule Ball is anything to go by." Draco looked down Harry's body then back up to his eyes. He cocked one eyebrow and said, "Nice jeans."

Harry embarrassedly wondered if Draco was being sarcastic and had to stop himself from saying they weren't actually his. "It's my first time here," he said. "My friend from the Auror Department asked me, well, more like _told me_ to come out with them tonight. She can be persuasive, that one."

Draco laughed and said, "Pansy dragged me along with her. It's unsettling how often I let her convince me to come out with her. I detest this place, it's too crowded and the drinks are overpriced. Tonight she's abandoned me to go dance with some Irish bloke, although it seems that they've given up dancing in favour of snogging against the back wall."

Harry's gaze followed Draco's to where it fell upon a couple, on the other side of the dance floor, who were enthusiastically kissing as though neither of them had any need to breathe.

"What can I get for you, Mr. Potter?" asked the bartender when she finally made her way over to them.

"Three firewhiskeys, please," said Harry, dropping two galleons onto the bar counter.

Harry looked back to Draco, taking in his long sleeves, and asked, "You aren't hot in here?"

"A bit," said Draco.

"Is it because of the Mark?" asked Harry, before he could stop himself. Draco's eyes narrowed and Harry immediately wanted to kick himself. A small tray, with the three drinks he ordered, floated to where they stood and Harry quickly took it in his hands.

"Sorry," said Harry. "Er- you can, that is, if you want to, you're welcome to join us." Harry only meant to be polite and was hoping that Draco would decline. Perhaps he would be angry with Harry now and would leave him alone… but that made Harry's insides squirm just as much as the notion of Draco actually sitting at his table with him and his sort-of-date.

Draco considered him for a moment with an expression that Harry could not quite place, before shrugging. "Sure," he said, and at that moment Harry decided that he would much rather have Draco be angry with him rather than join them.

They made their way back to the table, where Meagan was sitting alone. "Meagan, this is Draco Malfoy. Draco, Meagan."

"Hello," said Meagan, smiling brightly as if she wasn't aware that he was, not more than a few days ago, a suspect in their office's murder investigation.

Draco smiled politely and slid into the booth across from Harry and Meagan.

"So, you work in the office that relentlessly pesters me," said Draco to Meagan. "Are you an Auror, too?"

"Oh, no," said Meagan, blushing. "I'm not fit to be an Auror. I'm just the secretary, not very important."

Harry should have said that she was an important part of their office. He should have told her that she was good at her job. He should have said something, but he was lost as he watched Draco, who was looking at Meagan with what looked like amusement while settling back in his booth with an exaggerated casualness.

Draco looked back to Harry and quirked one eyebrow up. Harry could almost hear the words that he knew Draco was itching to say. He was obviously trying to make Harry uncomfortable, and he seemed to be enjoying it.

Suddenly, Beverly and Noah came back, and Beverly sat down heavily next to Draco. "Hey, Malfoy," she said, as if they were friends, and kicked off her heels.

Draco was obviously startled, and he shifted further down the booth and away from Beverly, looking at her skeptically. Harry smiled at Draco's apparent discomfort as he was introduced to Noah by Beverly, who was rubbing her feet. "Bloody heels, why did I wear these again?" she asked, looking at Draco as if he knew the answer. Harry almost laughed. "Who's up for another drink?" asked Beverly.

Draco leaned across the table towards Harry and asked, "Would you like to dance?"

"Dance?" stammered Harry. "You mean, with _you_?"

"Yes, with me," said Draco slowly, grey eyes searching Harry's face and pointedly ignoring the bewildered looks of the others around the table.

"I… Er- I don't really dance."

"Shame," said Draco, leaning back again.

Beverly, Noah, and Meagan were likely still staring, shocked, at Draco, but Harry couldn't bring himself to look away from him. He wanted to grab Draco by his tie, yank him across the table, and wipe the smirk off of his mouth with his lips. When Draco's mouth curved into a small, delighted smile, Harry couldn't help feeling as though Draco knew exactly what Harry was thinking.

An awkward silence fell between the five of them before Beverly cleared her throat pointedly. "We'll get those drinks," she said, as she and Noah got up and walked away.

"Well," said Draco, "it's far later than I had intended to stay out. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go dislodge my friend's mouth from her drunken mistake of the week and bring her home before she attempts to apparate again. It's a bloody miracle she hasn't managed to splinch herself yet. Thanks for the drink, Potter."

"Anytime," said Harry, who felt himself blush. If he had accepted Draco's offer, would they have ended up in a similar position as Parkinson and whoever she had been dancing with?

"Goodnight, Morgan," said Draco.

"_Meagan_," she corrected, but Draco was already walking away.

"I didn't know you two were friends," said Meagan.

"We are. I mean, sort of. I guess."

Meagan was still looking at him curiously when Beverly and Noah returned. "Honestly, Harry," said Beverly, "that was bloody _bizarre_. Did he really ask you to _dance_ with him?"

"Bizarre," agreed Harry, taking his drink from Beverly and downing it in a single gulp.

"What a sight that would have been," said Noah. "It'd be the cover story of tomorrow's issue of _The_ _Prophet_!"

Everyone, including Harry, laughed at that, although in his mind he could see too clearly the headline that would be splashed across the front page of the newspaper: _Boy Who Lived: Gay and Shagging Former Death Eater?_

_Where did '_gay'_ and '_shagging'_ come from,_ thought Harry. The drinks were catching up to him and making his brain fuzzy. _I'm not gay and I won't be shagging_ anyone_, certainly not Malfoy. I don't even want to think of the mechanics of that…_

But Harry _did_ start to consider the mechanics of it, that is, until Beverly nudged him and asked him if he was up for another drink, claiming it was "a perfect night to get pissed." After Harry's enthusiastic agreement they all headed for the bar together and Harry, despite his previous protests, ended up getting drunk enough to dance. After they had all stumbled out of the club nearly two hours later, and he had Meagan pressed against the building while messily kissing her and trying to ignore the press of her breasts against his chest, it was Draco he was thinking of.


End file.
